


Becoming a Weird Sister

by LunaStellaCat



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-04-03
Updated: 2017-04-12
Packaged: 2018-10-14 06:06:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 18,925
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10530462
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LunaStellaCat/pseuds/LunaStellaCat
Summary: The Weird Sisters get a chance of a lifetime.  This is a series of Weird Sisters one-shots.For anyone who got a chance.





	1. Merton Graves

At age seven, Merton Graves’s grandmother commented on his good hands and gave him two choices: piano or violin. Later on, he picked up the cello and found his heart in an instrument. Of course, learning the other string instrument helped. After all, to those who didn't know, a cello acted as nothing more than an upside down big brother of the violin, right? 

He lived on the streets and made the starving artist cliché damn near reality. At eighteen, he worked as a dishwasher at a shabby pub called Patches. A true artist starved for the good of his art. This was all really, really stupid, but he’d play this thing until he went to the grave. The double shifts kept him above the poverty line; he worked a lot to be headed nowhere. After shift, even an exhausting one, he donned casual clothes and parked his butt on the street corner and went to town on Posey. 

Posey was the name of his cello. He had another one called George, but George rarely wanted to come out and play, and Posey sounded better because she got more attention. 

This thin man in torn and ripped robes kept marking his territory. Graffiti artists had a similar problem. Merton had never tried his hand at this, but he’d witnessed good art erased on by an amateur. A quiet fellow with a battered case and not much else, Merton stood his ground and kept playing nonstop for the next hour. His foot acted as his metronome. 

Once in a while, though this was probably more for giggles from the gathering crowd than anything else, the wizard flicked a Knut into the case. There was Muggle money in there, too, and the Muggles who passed with their shopping parcels most likely thought this bloke was a nutter. 

The man disappeared for about fifteen minutes. Still, Merton played on. The man left his large yellow umbrella by the cello case, and if he wasn't coming back, Merton claimed that thing as his own. Every once in a while, he checked the time. At eleven past six, the man came back with a stocky, dark-haired bass player, and this homely wizard made himself at home! 

 

“Left-handed or right-handed?” The bass player spoke during a rest as his friend continued his pacing and disappearing nonchalant act. Although he was obviously skilled, the bass player had plugged into no electrical outlet and played the instrument fine. There were no amps. Ignoring him, Merton switched the position of the cello and transferred the bow. The bass player introduced himself as Donaghan Tremlett of the Weird Sisters. He’d quit playing first. “Bastard’s ambidextrous. Do you see this shit Myron?” 

“I see it,” said Myron. 

The fellow called Myron tossed a drawstring purple pouch into the cello case and offered Merton a hand. Merton, who regretted not taking a break when this man had left, couldn't move because his hands were severely cramped. He’d taken little rests here and there, though he’d kept his hands in play. Myron took the instrument and leaned it against the brick wall of the Muggle establishment. He pulled Merton to his feet. 

“Weird Sisters, mate,” said Donaghan, sounding certain. Merton didn’t buy this until Donaghan flexed his fingers and revealed his tattooed calf; there was a combined treble and bass chef there. Donaghan, laughing with his whole body, turned to Myron. “He’s mute. This is excellent.” 

“He’s not mute,” said Myron as he packed up the cello and locked the case. Myron spoke softly for a musician who shattered notes onstage. “Come. We’re drinking.” 

Merton stood there, silent, sure he was dreaming. 

“We. You, him, and me. We’re drinking.” Myron steered Merton back towards Patches. He radiated confidence and got two waitresses phone numbers right after they got served at a table. He read off the digits to them, smirking. “Anyone know how to use a telephone? She's pretty.” 

Donaghan ate with his hands, keeping his eye on the instruments in the corner. Which one?” 

Myron jabbed at her with his thumb. “Nine o’clock.” 

“Yeah, she’s mine, mate. Thanks very much.” After downing his drink in one, Donaghan snatched the napkin with the scribbled numbers on it and rushed off to chat up the waitress called Sarah with the excuse that his tankard had a mysterious malfunction: the thing was empty.

“He’s always doing that,” said Myron, frowning. He thanked the other waitress for the fish and chips, although he seemed to have lost interest in her. Merton, seeing the man’s tattoo sleeves under his tattered robes, decided this wasn't an intricate prank. “What of do you do for a living?” 

A line cook came by and sapped any hope of a cool story. Interrupting the chitchat, the line cook asked if Merton wanted his Saturday morning shift. Merton needed the money, so he said yes. Dejected, he winced when he turned back to the lead singer of the Weird Sisters. What an embarrassment! 

“I work here,” he muttered as he accepted another cherry-flavored fizzy drink. 

Myron actually laughed as he spun his beer bottle cap like a top. He flicked it with his finger and lowered his tone. “Mate, I used to be the drowned rat at the Leaky Cauldron, and I pulled shifts at Flourish and Blotts to afford art supplies. Found a rat in the basin once. Squealed like a little girl. There’s no shame in this game.” 

“Really?” Merton’s eyes widened in surprise. “You?” 

Myron grinned as he gave his sandwich to the frightened waiter and showed her it was raw. She acted mortified, but he merely asked for it to be sent back. As they waited for the food, Myron explained the Weird Sisters had formed when he was in school. There were currently seven members. Five of them, including Myron, were schoolboy friends. 

“Gideon said we needed another sound, suggested a violinist,” said Myron. The flushed, nervous waitress came out with two plates and offered one to Merton; she called him Seth. She kept their drinks filled. Myron, grinning, split open a half chicken with a knife and told him to tuck in. “Who’s Seth? My other waitress seems taken by this Seth. What's the use of being a famous musician if I can’t get ta date?”  
“I’m Seth Turner. It’s my given name.” Merton returned Myron’s knowing smile. 

“Seth Turner is a brilliant cellist. He’s my cellist.” Myron gave him a high-five. Merton, stuck somewhere between disbelief and laughter, clasped his hand. Checking to make sure the coast was clear, Myron took out his wand and conjured a roll of parchment. It was a lengthy contract. Nobody had to make a decision now, but this was an opportunity to get out of the gutter. “Ever heard of us?” 

“The Weird Sisters? Are you kidding me?” Merton took the contract. 

“Ever heard us play?” 

“I’m a dishwasher. So, no, I haven’t. I can’t afford to go sir see a show, and I work on the weekends. I thought you’d be more hairy.” Merton grinned. 

“That’s stage presence,” said Myron. 

“I listen to you lot on the WWN. You need to fix that bridge on ‘Good Night’. The feedback loop?” 

“Damn it. I keep telling these people. Donaghan!” Myron pounded his fist on the wooden table. Merton, thinking he’d angered the lead singer and ruined his chance at a good shot, slouched in his chair. Donaghan came over with two tankards in his hands. “Feedback loop on the second verse. That’s you.” 

“It ain’t. Here.” Donaghan pointed out his waitress and frowned when Myron flicked flecks of breaded food at him. He set the tankards on the table, muttering that he guessed he wasn't going home with the girl. Myron gave him a look that clearly said so. “The feedback loop. It's there. Let's fix it." 

A feedback loop usually bounced off an echo in speakers. It was a problem, although in most cases it wasn't much of a problem, and it certainly never hindered the music so much that it bothered the crowd. As there were no speakers in the magical world, Merton didn't know how this got captured in the recording. A trained ear, a trained musician's ear would've caught this. It couldn't be an acoustic guitar. It might be a keyboard, but the keyboard might suffer some serious damage. 

 

"No. It's not that it shouldn't be there. I just want to hear you acknowledge it." Myron drummed his fingers on the table. What was the point of taking it out if nobody said it was wrong? He nodded at Merton. "Good ear." 

"Er, thanks." Merton might've learned music at his grandmother's knee, but he knew a thing or two. 

"Seth Turner sounds boring as a stage name," said Donaghan. He acted like one of the originals of the group. If this was so, Merton assumed the bass guitarist was one of Myron's best mates. It was something to come from within the inner circle. 

"Merton Graves works." The sides of Myron's mouth twitched; he insisted Merton be both. A man didn't have to lose his soul to play on a stage. "Where'd you get it?" 

Merton hesitated. The story was a boring one. "I stole it off the gravestone of a Merton Collins." 

Donaghan sounded impressed. "Stole a name off a dead man, did you, Seth? He ain't missing it." 

"Merton. Listen, we've been around for a bit. Seven or eight years? Been playing for a decade. People come and people go." Myron clapped his hands together and sounded strangely businesslike. Donaghan and Myron saw this as a lucrative career, and it wasn't about the girls. "We had a string instrument man. Two of them." 

 

Merton asked the obvious question. There were five others in this group, and he understood he wasn't officially in the in crowd or the inner circle. "What happened?" 

"One had a nasty affair with Miss Warbeck," said Donaghan, checking Myron's fixed expression before he answered. The names stayed out of the confession. This one Merton had read about in Witch Weekly. "The other one drank himself out. Drugs. The hard stuff." 

"No drama and no drugs. No excessive drinking." Myron gave Merton his warning, and although he didn't say it, Merton felt this was the only one he'd get. If two violinists had already crossed the line, his patience wore thin with string men. "Are we cool?" 

"Yeah. Yes, sir." Merton stopped with Donaghan gave a shaky chuckle and clapped his old friend on the back. 

"Not a sir. I've learned stuff along the way." Myron examined the stripped chicken bones. He paid for the meal in Sickles and Galleons and did not realize this until they got outside. Donaghan had the instruments."Damn." 

"Leave it. She might want to find her rich man," suggested Donaghan. 

He sighed when Merton went to go clear up his mistake. Merton blocked the table from the waitress when he went back in. He bumped into her on purpose at the swinging doors leading into the kitchens. And three tall glasses splashed her blouse. When her back was turned, he cast a Currency Charm and changed the coins into Muggle money. 

"Oh, no! Sarah, did I do that? Damn." Merton stripped off his coat and handed it to her. After he rushed into the kitchen and served her table, Sarah the waitress asked after Donaghan and slipped Merton a note scribbled on the back of a receipt. He thanked her and delivered the message. "From Sarah." 

"Oooh, nice one. Can we keep him, Myron? He's a good owl. Yes." Donaghan patted Merton on the cheek like a caring grandmother. All three of them laughed. 

"Not a dog." Myron pulled Merton back animatedly and groaned when Donaghan vowed to marry this girl. He reached into his robes and handed Merton two tickets. Donaghan, burdened by the cargo, breathed heavily as he followed them down the street, asked Merton to spell sweet Sarah's name. "He goes through girls like the seasons. If you're friends with this Sarah, tell her to walk away. Walk the other way." 

Merton considered this the best night of his life. By sheer luck, he got heard by the right ears, and they seemed to get along well. The tickets held what Myron called "secret seats", though Merton wouldn't care if he got glued against a wall or got caught in the nosebleed section. He got free a ticket to see the Weird Sisters!

 

He'd received a backstage pass to the Thames Theatre. He attended all practice sessions with the band; these made his day over the next six months. Kirley Duke, lead guitarist, acted as the prankster of the group. Gideon Crumb, the red-haired burly Scot, grumbled a lot like a protective father, but he reminded Merton of a frightening teddy bear in disguise. When Orsino, bald and observant, only spoke when there was something to say. 

If there was an official leader, it wasn't Myron, as Merton had assumed when they'd first met. It was Gideon. This was simply a lax jam session -they had a goal in mind. When they weren't onstage though, they donned casual clothing and acted like a bunch of blokes. Herman Wintrigham, the lute player, rejoiced when he learned there was yet another string man in the gang. 

Orsino sat on a large instrument case and pounded it with his hands, keeping the beat and nodding his head. 

"Kirley for the win. Ripped through the bridge!" shouted Donaghan. 

Donaghan hadn't played his part because they'd needed an ear. He had tag-teamed with Myron on this task. Kirley, grinned, for he knew he'd done it successfully both times. It was no easy feat to master and play a feedback loop. He gave Kirley a high-five. They all muttered congratulations. Donaghan cleared his throat. The Weird Sisters were a family, a brotherhood, and they shared everything. 

"So, er, I got news today." Donaghan handed Kirley a beer after casting a Chilling Charm on it. "Last night after the show, really, but I needed a moment. Sarah and I, we ..." 

"Wait. Wait a moment. This bastard said 'we.'" Orsino rubbed his hands together in glee. "I didn't know that word was in your vocabulary, Donaghan. Continue." 

Donaghan, shaking his long hair laughed and fell silent. This was serious. 

Myron broke the news. "He's going to be a daddy." 

Congratulations and abuse went all round, and Gideon conjured glasses of drink after he went over to the sideboard. Band members came and went, though the Weird Sisters had been round long enough to enjoy capital. They had a private flat on Oxford Street, a studio, to craft music. The place was in Myron Wagtail’s name. The press milled around sometimes, and although they knew the general area, the place was Unplottable. 

That had been Heathcote and Herman's brain child; it went down in the books as a stroke of genius. There were Silencing and Soundproofing Charms around the parameter to not disturb the Muggle families on either side of this place. Merton could've pinched himself the first time he'd walked into this studio flat. The sitting room with its oversized furniture proved to be nothing special, but the rest of it look like a place dedicated to art. 

Merton had put in his two weeks' notice at Patches; there were three days left. Although he was still muddling through the music and making mistakes, he'd been taken into the group. Even though he played the fetching boy at the bottom of the heap, he felt fond of this lot. He hadn't realized Sarah was pregnant, though, and they were friends. She'd left the pub quite suddenly, though, and currently worked as a teller at a bank. 

 

"Oh." The pieces of the puzzle fell into place for him. 

"You're keeping it?" asked Heathcote shrewdly, pulling up a chair. 

Herman walked over to the window sill and flicked a beetle off the screen of the open window.

"Yeah, yeah. It's time to grow up, gentlemen. Donaghan's a big boy with big boy responsibilities. In fact, I'll do you one better because we're ... we're getting married." Donaghan turned beet red when the group exploded and gave another round of congratulations. By the looks he caught on everyone else's faces, none of them had heard this nugget of news. "Yeah, yeah, we went home and celebrated. It was great." 

Gideon walked back over to his bagpipes. "The engagement or the sex?" 

Myron spat, spraying Orsino with drink. "Whoa, Papa Bear! Whoa." 

"It's Donaghan, lads," said Gideon, shrugging it off like it was nothing. Donaghan agreed. Gideon, thirty-four, was the eldest in the gang; he was married to a publicist, their advertising agent who handed all the behind-the-scenes stuff. She was called Portia; Gideon was called Papa Bear because he took care of everyone. "Right. Well, we've got rehearsal before heading to Hogwarts. "The first Weird Sisters bastard." 

 

"Donaghan, I'm not really surprised that's you, mate. No offense." Heathcote grabbed his guitar and finished his drink. Merton, smiling, picked up his bow and set to work. It was Christmas Eve. 

After practice ended two hours later, they decided to grab a bite to eat. Gideon made dinner. What use was it having a fully stocked kitchen if they weren't ever going to use it? He needed onions and sausages, so Merton offered to go shopping with Donaghan. They returned from a nearby shop, laden with bags, and spotted Sarah, who ran from a peck of owls. A photographer Apparated a few feet away. Though they didn't know the exact location of the jam studio, they got the general idea of the place. 

"Oh, my God. Are you kidding me? Leave me alone!" Sarah turned around. Donaghan and Merton rushed over to her. 

"It's all right. It's all right." Donaghan took her in his arms and shielded her. 

"She's a damn bank teller. Have you lost your minds?" Merton waved the owls away, although they kept coming back until their letters got dropped at Sarah's and Donaghan's feet. He sighed when a woman with blonde curls and long nails came closer. 

"Rita Skeeter." The Daily Prophet reporter offered Sarah a hand as she said she was a special correspondent. Sarah froze. Rita, completely at her ease, filled them in. Sarah turned, and Donaghan draped his traveling cloak over her. Rita laughed derisively. The cameras flashed. "Oh, there's no hiding that, dear. Is that a ring?" 

"No." Sarah lied. As Sarah shifted the basket on her arm, she acted as though she wanted to be anywhere but here. 

"Okay. This is how this goes." Donaghan sounded annoyed, though he still smiled warmly at the press. "You speak to me. Not her." 

Rita begged for crumbs. "Well, we know she works like a goblin. What's Sarah's name? Come on, Donaghan, fans will love this bit." 

"How do you know I'm called Sarah? And I'm not a goblin!" Sarah, furious and frightened, stood her ground. 

"No, I don't imagine you speak a word of Gobbledegook," said Rita seriously. "You're lovely. Look at those legs. Of course, you're no goblin, dear. Not a drop of magical blood in the family?" 

“Hey. Watch it. No, Sarah. Sarah.” Donaghan took her by the wrist after addressing Rita Skeeter. Donaghan was a lovable people person without having trying to be one. Sarah stopped struggling. Merton, who suffered from stage fright and liked his place in the back, admired this. “I’m Muggle-born, Miss Skeeter, in case you’ve forgotten. What the hell does that matter?” 

“Apologies,” said Rita, though her voice lacked sincerity. 

Donaghan checked Sarah’s expression before he answered. “It’s Sarah Miller. That’s all you get. Merry Christmas.” 

“Will you be at Hogwarts with Miss Miller tomorrow night?” Rita always tried to get in the last word. 

“Merry Christmas,” said Donaghan and Merton together. They walked beside Sarah. Donaghan collected the owls with a wave of his wand. When the paparazzi Disapparated, Rita Skeeter among them, they headed back into the studio flat. 

“Thanks, Seth,” muttered Sarah, shaking a little. 

“No problem,” said Merton. He walked past her to dump his stash in the kitchen. Donaghan chucked the owls into the fire without reading one of them and strode into the kitchen. When he started dancing around the place and banging on the range with a plastic spatula and a wooden spoon. Orsino Apparated next to him and physically lifted him off the ground, saving the appliances from his off-beat. 

Sarah giggled. She was still getting used to the magical world, and she really hadn't hung around anyone but them. Donaghan counted her lucky. Who else got eight rocker friends and got to crash here during jam sessions? Donaghan, still dancing, went over to Sarah as Gideon took his spot. She admired the clothes horse as the clothes layered themselves on it. 

“Seth. Here.” Sarah offered him the basket. “For you.” 

“Peppermint bark brownies. Thanks, Sarah.” Merton devoured these the couple years he’d worked at Patches. She beamed at him. 

“Ooooh. What’s this?” Myron rushed downstairs with the other members and snatched a couple brownies. With his mouth full of brownie, he said, “What’s up, Sarah? Rumor has it she’s going to be a they.” 

Although Sarah could come and go as she pleased, she hadn’t been around in a while. Things were busy at the bank, and they’d been practicing a lot for the Hogwarts show. Donaghan, grinning, gestured at his fiancée. Sarah was off on Christmas Day and Boxing Day, as they were federal holidays. 

“Seth? Is that a tattoo?” Sarah spotted the combined treble and bass chef on Merton’s left wrist. 

“Who’s this Seth?” Myron and Gideon asked together, chortling. 

“You don’t know?” Sarah, confused, looked around the group. 

“They know,” said Merton, reddening. He raised his left hand and showed her his new mark. “All of us has this. Donaghan’s is on his calf.”  
“”Mate, trust me, she knows.” Donaghan winked at Sarah. She rolled her eyes and burst out laughing when Gideon flipped him off. The tattoo, as any self-respecting Weird Sisters fan knew, had been drawn by Gideon.

“We have to update that shot with Merton’s hand,” said Myron. Gideon, turning around and supervising the sharp knives, nodded. “People. Our Christmas is on Boxing Day. Bring food and drink.” 

“And chocolate,” grumbled Gideon. 

Merton lifted the brownies. On second thought, he lifted these, thinking they wouldn’t survive to see Boxing Day. Merton had thought this was the Christmas lunch, but Gideon said it was just breakfast for dinner as he prepped for Christmas. They usually held Christmas on Christmas, but you didn’t exactly say no to Professor Albus Dumbledore. Myron, the moment he’d heard Hogwarts Castle hosted the Triwizard Tournament, had followed Professor Dumbledore around London for a day or two; he’d asked to be placed on the ticket. 

Professor Dumbledore had said no. 

“Really?” Gideon asked as they packed. 

“Yeah. Then he Apparated right in of me as I turned onto Oxford Street.” Myron filled two thermoses, with his lemon and honey tea; this stuff saved his voice. “He said he wanted to see my face. Seemed to think it was funny. Who knew the headmaster had a sense of humor?” 

“You would’ve been pissed,” Herman sniggered. He imitated Myron’s soft, sensible tone. “Professor. No, wait, Professor. Seriously? Professor!” 

“That’s totally how that went down, eh?” Kirley snorted at Myron’s odd expression. This was a once in a lifetime opportunity, playing at the Yule Ball. 

 

The new year came with new responsibilities. When word got around that Merton had a sat of pipes and could sing well, Myron snatched him up so fast he might have been a Snitch. Gideon accused him of not being as forthcoming as he ought to have been, though this was all in good fun. Merton, wanting everything out on the table, admitted he played not only the cello, but the piano and the violin, too. Myron was the lead singer. 

Why would they need another? Merton liked writing music; someone else put words to them. A quiet man, he’d dated here and there, although he’d never really hit it off with a girl. In the band, he was the cello. It wasn’t exactly the coolest instrument. In the beginning of February, he started getting his feet wet and showing his music to Myron. Myron gave him singing lessons after jam sessions. “Donaghan missed practice.” Merton cleaned the cello and tapped his foot to the beat. 

“Yeah. He’s with Sarah.” Myron raised his hand when Merton looked up, worried. “They are fine. He asked for a couple nights off.” 

“If we’re not on tour till May, what’re we going to do?”  
“Write an album.” Myron shrugged, reading over a piece of sheet music on parchment. He explained they worked in cycles; in the springtime, often before this, they went into hiding because the heart needed to pump new blood to survive. They released a new album every eighteen months. “You’re really dedicated.” 

“To what?” Merton set the cello aside after cleaning his case. 

“The art.” Myron sat on a bench and hummed a few bars before crossing stuff out. “You know that piece you played the night you auditioned? That piece from Les Miserables?” 

“Yeah.” Slightly shocked he’d remember the title of the production, Merton picked up his violin when he’d finished with Posey when started polishing it. The fact that Myron had called his street session as an audition was laughable. Merton equated it to one getting his arm stretched on a rack. “I played ‘Master of the House’.” 

Myron nodded, lost in his thoughts for a moment. “Play it for me.” 

Merton had played a lot of the classics whilst he hung out on the streets, for his grandmother had told him people liked the familiar. They liked what was pleasurable to the ear. This is why most catchy tunes followed the same catchy tune. They followed the same three or four chord progression. Listeners, the usual crowd, didn't care if they heard the same thing over and over again. 

“All right.” Merton sped up the polishing of the violin. He grabbed the bow and danced around as he got into the music. As a once starving artist not so long ago, he took any request without thinking about it. He got by. 

Myron, enjoying it, laughed heartily and clapped his hands when Merton danced on the bottom steps of the staircase. Lost in the music, Merton forgot himself. There was a difference between playing for passersby on the street and standing among seven other practiced musicians. Magical or Muggle, it all boiled down to the same thing. Merton didn't doubt his ability, but his confidence broke somewhere along the way. 

Finished with the jaunty song, Merton bowed, grinning. He missed the impromptu concerts, sometimes playing in the rain with nothing more than the clothes on his back because he’d forgotten laundry that day. Myron complimented his footwork, regretting that the cello kept him in a chair.  
Myron sat down on the seat in the windowsill. 

Merton set the violin next to the closed cello case and smirked at him when he sat down. They stared at each other for a long moment until Merton broke his gaze. He cleared his throat loudly, said something about incorporating the violin into the show, and dropped the suggestion as soon as the thought turned into words. 

“Why not?” Myron tapped his foot again, despite the fact there was no beat. He’d have to bring it up to the band, of course, for the violin offered a different range. It wouldn’t always fit. Merton nodded. Before he could reply, Myron kissed him! 

Merton, shocked, backed off and stared at the opposite wall. 

“Sorry.” Myron crossed his legs and waded though an uncomfortable silence. Probably thinking someone had to say something, he said, unabashed, “You never dated. You keep to yourself… and I assumed … I was wrong.” 

“Been on a few dates.” Merton got up and went to support the wall. He needed distance, so he pretended to straighten something on the wall. “No. You’re not.” 

Myron scratched his chin. Thinking they were just going to leave it there, Merton went to pack his violin after he took his time polishing it. He had so many questions. Surely, he thought, there was no way the public could know the lead singer- the lead singer- of the Weird Sisters batted for the other team. Or maybe they did, and this gave the band a whole new meaning. 

The band had to know; they kept no secrets from each other. Myron had grown up with three or four of these blokes as close friends. There were shots of him in publications like Witch Weekly and even the New York Ghost! Or maybe, maybe he was sleep deprived, and he'd imagined the whole thing. Slowly, as his mind raced, he approached Myron and stood in front of him. 

He looked him right in the eye. “When did you know?” 

“When did I know you were gay? When you politely turned down that French girl in Paris in that dress.” Myron laughed when Merton shook his head, although they both understood Myron wasn’t laughing at him. Myron closed the distance between them and considered the weighty question. “I suppose I’ve always known I went the other way. I design the stage costumes. Mum said I painted my fingernails black once. I don’t know.” 

The sides of Merton’s mouth twitched. 

“I bet that French girl is still confused,” said Myron. He picked up his sheet music. He didn’t act flamboyant. Until this revelation, he hadn't let his guard down, and he acted awfully chatty with the girls at the pubs or the restaurants after shows. He studied Merton’s face. “You’re nineteen. You’ve never been kissed before, have you, Seth?” 

“No.” Merton flushed. He guessed that was no slip of the tongue. “You talk to girls all the time!” 

“Yeah. I talk. I’m … I was Donaghan’s wingman. He let me go after he found Sarah.” Myron feigned disappointment. “They know. We don’t talk about it. Your eyes? They’re beautiful.” 

“Thank you.” Merton took the compliment. “How old are you?” 

“Twenty-six next month.” 

“March seventeenth. St. Patrick’s Day.” Merton knew the birthdays of every man in this lot. He’d read them in gossip magazines. He’d been quite the fan before joining the band. He stopped himself from switching into total nerd mode; he knew, for instance, that Kirley Duke wore his lucky, mismatched, stripped socks during performances. He turned to leave. 

Myron waited a minute or so. “It takes practice.”  
Merton apologized for missing the simple notes in the singing lessons. 

“No. Life.” Myron rattled on about some lesson his father gave him. Merton stopped; this man had a brilliant, insightful mind. He walked over, shaking, and locked lips with him. Myron, taking this as a yes, kissed him back. He lowered his voice, although nobody else was there. “If everything in life is a lesson, why is life itself not one? You’re getting better.”  
“What does this mean?” 

“No idea.” 

“Are you always this deep?” 

“Not knowing something isn't deep. However, admitting that you don’t know something? We don’t know everything.” Myron kissed him a third time, stroking his face. “You can tell me to shut up. Donaghan tells me that all the time, and Gideon has this hourglass. You know, those plastic trinkets in Muggle board games? It works.” 

“You talk a lot.” Merton laughed when Myron shut up and stared at his watch for ten minutes. They wrote a song together, nonsense, really, about an hourglass. Merton liked the sound of Myron’s laugh. 

 

In the early hours of the ninth of March, Donaghan’s son, Jericho Tremlett, came into the world. He clung to it hours later. Devastated, Donaghan asked this to stay out of the papers and the press. Merton, who had arrived with a small baby gift, sat in the waiting room huddled with the other band members. They looked odd dressed in their stage clothes, but Myron had shut down the show when he’d received an owl at intermission. Donaghan was his brother; he went where he was needed. 

“Damn it.” Myron looked up when Donhaghan, dressed in protective clothing, tapped on the waiting room doors. Gideon got up. “No. I’ve got it.” 

“Lad,” Gideon, tired, wanted to argue. 

“He’s got it, Papa Bear,” muttered Orsino, picking up a deck of Muggle playing cards as the Saint Catherine’s Hospital requested a Doctor Rochester over the intercom. 

Myron nodded. He cracked his neck and readied himself. Merton, sitting closest to the doors, got a perfect view. He couldn’t look away, though part of him wanted to. The moment Myron passed through the doors, Donaghan collapsed into his arms Merton registered something in Myron’s face he never seen before. Was it panic or loss? Gideon Crumb, shoving skinny Kirley out of the way, bouldered through the doors. When the doors opened, Donaghan, grasping for air, reminded Merton of a wounded animal left on the side of the road. 

“Donaghan,” grumbled Gideon, burying Donaghan’s face in his chest. The doors closed and Gideon steered them away down the corridor. 

Kirley cried silently by Gideon’s empty chair. Herman struck up a prayer asking God to take Jericho. Merton did not know how many of them followed faith, though it was obvious Herman did. Orsino furious, smashed his house of cards, and cards flew everywhere. He left. Others in the waiting room, Muggles, stared after him, shocked at his behavior. Heathcote, the rhythm guitarist, followed him. 

Sarah. Someone needed to ask after Sarah. Merton felt for Donaghan as much as anyone, although he didn't know what it was to lose a child, but Sarah was his friend. He looked around at his friends, all trapped in their grief and shock, and got to his feet. Determined, he went towards the waiting room doors. He jumped back, scared when Gideon blocked his way. He’d come back. 

“What’re you doing, lad?” Gideon placed a hand on Merton’s shoulder and towered over him. 

“Sarah.” Merton allowed himself to steered back to his chair by the bagpiper. 

“Sarah’s fine. Exhausted, obviously. Who wouldn't be after going through an ordeal like that? Laboring for two days?” Gideon shook his head sadly and clapped his hands together; he was the bearer of bad news. He leaned on the arm of Merton’s chair. “Lads, Jericho’s … he didn’t make it. Got strangled by the cord, they say. He’s a tiny thing.” 

“You saw him?” Kirley wiped his eyes hastily with the sleeve of his robes. 

“Yeah. Looks like his dad. I held him for a moment.” Gideon gave a watery laugh and sobered up, cutting this short. Papa Bear shed no tears in public. “Myron and his parents are with him. Saying goodbye.” 

Kirley and Herman spoke up together. “We want to see him!” 

“Myron’s godfather,” said Merton. He shrugged when Kirley asked how he knew this. Myron had told Merton a couple nights ago as they laid in bed reading Shakespeare. As they hadn’t yet gone and made their relationship public, he chose not to divulge how he knew this. “He’s not ours.” 

“You’re right.” Herman said he needed a smoke. The other band members traipsed outside with him. It was raining. Herman passed his smokes around, his hand shaking slightly. “Donaghan.” 

“He’s a good man,” said Gideon. “Who could’ve predicted that? Donaghan’s a man. I’ll be God damned.” 

 

Six months later, on a cold autumn afternoon, Donaghan sat in the graveyard with his band. He’d married Sarah Miller an hour earlier. It was raining, though not all of them held umbrellas. Donaghan knelt on the damp earth and gestured to a stone bench for Sarah. 

“Your mother’s beautiful. And she was stupid enough to say yes to this idiot.” Donaghan didn't look up to see who sniggered, though he flipped Myron off first. “Myron’s an idiot. He murdered the first verse of ‘Catriona’. On my wedding day.” 

“Guilty.” Myron chuckled when Sarah gave him a thumbs-up. “Merton saved me in second part.” 

“On my wedding day! Ain’t got no sense.” Driving the point home, Donaghan went to sit by his wife. “It got split into a beautiful duet, though. Never heard it sung between two blokes before. Once you had enough drink in your system, if you closed your eyes and imagined Seth as a girl, it was all right.” 

They burst out laughing. Merton and Myron shared a brief look and looked hurriedly away from each other. “Catriona” was a song written for Kirley’s mother, who bore the name of the song. Merton, not knowing what to do, conjured his cello and sat down on the opposite stone bench. 

“We do actually have something for you, the three of you,” said Merton. 

Myron rested his hand on Merton’s shoulder and held the large yellow umbrella in his other hand. It was in the bidding for the new album, though they’d kept it from Donaghan and Sarah. Gideon, donned in full Highland dress, conjured his bagpipes after kissing Sarah’s hand. He joined Myron and Merton and tore through intro. Taking a deep breath, smiling when Myron gave his shoulder a reassuring squeeze, he got lost in the Weird Sisters' first released duet, “Mile to Jericho”. 

 

 


	2. Donaghan Tremlett

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Donaghan gets help from a friend.

They all started at the beginning. Donaghan had learned acoustic guitar at his grandfather's knee, and folks labelled him as "folksy and dark", but this didn't bother him at all. Donaghan stayed as a borderline baritone; people didn't know he had a deep set of pipes. Myron Wagtail knew a thing or two about the piano, but a lot of people didn't know this, either. The Weird Sisters were more than they appeared. Donaghan reserved his voice for the shower. 

Their new album, Catch and Release, set to be released in September, had a secret track called "Kindling", and although Myron wrote its lyrics, he did not appear on it. When he'd handed it to Donaghan one afternoon at practice, Donaghan had taken this as a mistake. Myron's vocal coach, Ferguson, took on the challenge with renewed enthusiasm because they kept pulling out the same old thing. It sold. It bored Myron to death. Instead of following the predictable three or four chords with the chorus pleasing the ear, this told a narrative story. 

This would either be the biggest mistake or the Weird Sisters' revival. One track buried amongst fourteen, there was no hiding this. Myron sang in a different range; Donaghan's pitch was more or less his talking voice, which Myron admired. They'd been best mates since their schooldays. They had not been in the same year. Donaghan, twenty-six, turned a new leaf over. This sounded bad, but he hoped it would stick.

Myron had landed them the best gig. Myron, a smooth talker who walked the walk and certainly talked the talk, had landed them at Hogwarts Castle on Christmas Day. Nothing had yet been released by Rita Skeeter. Donaghan hoped she waited until he could properly sit down with her. As a trade-off for the money and fame, they dealt with having their lives center stage. 

They arrived promptly at four o'clock in the afternoon. Sarah, who had called them all mad when she'd insisted she'd seen nothing more than a "Keep Out" sign, followed them up to the castle. Donaghan explained these were just protective measures against Muggles. They'd arrived by Hogsmeade Station. When she saw a quaint Christmas card village, Sarah insisted they go there. Whilst the rest of them wore their artfully ripped stage clothes, she wore a full-length red gown. 

"We can't, Miss Sarah." Gideon, businesslike the moment they Apparated onto the premises, started steering the large instruments towards the castle with the help of Orsino, Merton and Kirley. They couldn't Apparate onto the Hogwarts grounds, of course, but it was a short walk. 

"But ...but I want to." Sarah's inner child and the water works made frequent appearances. Donaghan guessed she couldn't help it. Since they'd met and made a baby at a pub the same night, they were still getting used to each other. "Please." 

Gideon glared at Donaghan and followed the others up to Hogwarts Castle. They weren't playing for four hours. But they needed time to set up. Donaghan, smirking, left Sarah at the gates and went to rent a room at the Three Broomsticks. Madam Rosmerta said there were no rooms available. She was very busy, thank you very much, and who walked in and expected rooms on Christmas Day? She rattled on, filling a tankard or two, with her back turned to him. When she faced him, Rosmerta did not notice her tankards spilled over with foamy drink. 

"I'm Donaghan Tremlett." 

After signing a few autographs and working on chatting her up, he reached inside his robes and placed a pouch on the bar. He had no idea if this would do him any good. Gold usually spoke volumes. Rosmerta, blushing, said she remembered him. Turning on the charm, he decided to flirt with her, nudging the pouch towards her. This was for Sarah. What the hell? The others sitting at the bar, except for a disgruntled goblin, gaped at him. There was enough gold in this pouch to pay for a room three times over.

"Listen, madam, I've got a very pregnant fiancée with me." Donaghan knew he stretched the truth because Sarah was seven months along. As Rita Skeeter would no doubt break the news the day after tomorrow, secrecy didn't matter. He lowered his voice so only she could hear. He knew it was stupid, yet he felt desperate here, so he sweetened the deal by offering to play during last call. Pouring it on thick, he lied straight through his teeth when the barmaid leaned in. "You know we're playing up at the castle. She'll be tired. If there is no room available, I understand, but it's our first Christmas, see, and Sarah was so excited. Maybe I'll try the Hog's Head." 

"Oh, no. I'll find something." Rosmerta scooped up the money and the autographs. 

Donaghan smiled and left. He usually didn't play the rich and famous card, though it had its perks. After stopping by Honeyduke's to sweet talk Mr. Ambrosius Flume into handing over some double chocolate fudge, some Peppermint Toads, and other sweets, he headed up to Hogwarts. The sweetshop was closed for Christmas, and Donaghan now had his pocket change. When he entered Hogwarts Castle, he was surprised not to be swarmed by fans and students. Albus Dumbledore himself met him at the door, saying the others were in the Transfiguration classroom. 

"Welcome back, Mr. Tremlett," he said, clasping hands with him.

"Merry Christmas, sir." Donaghan smiled and followed him upstairs. When they reached the classroom, the headmaster cleared away the desks with a casual flick of his wand and asked if they needed anything. 

"Yeah." Myron sat on a case and checked something with Heathcote. He jumped to his feet and handed Professor Dumbledore a folded sheet of parchment. "The set list. Will that do? If time catches up with us, we've got a number or two." 

"Like what?" Gideon, large and in charge, liked to be in the know. 

"Er, I dunno. Let's wing it, Papa Bear." Myron shook his head vehemently and nixed this idea as Gideon crossed his arms and pulled a grumpy face. He read the signs aright, making Herman and Kirley chuckle as he regained his composure. Dumbledore smiled politely as he read through the list of suggested songs. "No? Er, no. That's a hell, no." 

Herman and Sarah completely lost it in a giggle fit as Myron Wagtail, the control freak of control freaks, lost ground in no time flat. Gideon unpacked his bagpipes and set time aside before he went to go negotiate with Professor Dumbledore. The Scotsman got heavily to his feet and held out his hand. Professor Dumbledore dwarfed Papa Bear, and it was rather strange seeing them huddled at the teacher's desk. Myron, a little miffed, helped himself to Donaghan's Honeydukes stash and bit off a head of a Peppermint Toad. 

"They're kids, Myron." Herman played the lute absentmindedly. "Some of them have probably never heard of us." 

"We play in Calais and Paris all the time." Orsino pointed out, though none of them spoke a lick of French. 

Myron shrugged, guessing this was true. When Gideon and the Professor broke their huddle, they decided on "Paris is Burning" and "Auld Lang Syne". When a few of them looked confused, Donaghan hummed a few bars, and they acted like they caught on. Nobody got it. Donaghan referred to this as a New Year's song. Instead of debating the matter to death, he suggested they close with a single like "August Rush." 

"Yes. That sounds good." Gideon, muttering that he hadn't played "August Rush" in years, conjured a binder full of sheet music and told Merton, the new kid in the gang, he had two hours to learn the piece. Donaghan hid his sweets. Dumbledore nodded and left them to it. 

 

They'd been cordially invited to dinner at eight. Professor Dumbledore was a nice man, but they didn't want to get distracted and swamped by autographs. If they fed one pigeon, as Gideon used to put it, they fed them all night long. Sarah went to join the students. In the first hour, they played "Melody Rose" for the Triwizard champions. Myron had no singing part in this. Merton, a happy little clam, for he lived for classical music, shamed them all. He played the best. 

Donaghan particularly liked "Tortured Tea Leaves", and he sincerely hoped Professor Trelawney wasn't in attendance because they basically gave Divination the finger. Funnily enough, Myron enjoyed a Tarot reading every couple years. After the second hour, around ten-thirty, Donaghan tied his hair back and accepted a bottle of water from Merton. He could tell they burned through the set list. Usually Myron would chat here and there, but this was just straight play. During a brief intermission, Gideon struck up a Muggle tune called "There She Goes". Donaghan, recognizing it, did a double take, and gaped at him. 

 

Donaghan, forgetting the Sonorous Charm stayed in effect, cursed and laughed his head off. Gideon shrugged. Students and other people turned to face him. Nodding at Myron, who saluted him, Donaghan jumped into the La's "There She Goes". Although it was a little known fact because he was the current buried weapon for the album release, Donaghan sang with quite the pair of pipes. His grandfather had taught him ages ago, and he'd been classified by Myron as an almost baritone. Picking up his bass guitar, he fell in line with Gideon and sang his heart out. When they finished, some of the students, probably the Muggle-borns, exploded in applause. 

"Gideon, what the hell?" Donaghan clapped him on the shoulder as the other band members traipsed back onstage. Gideon gave him a thumbs-up and winked at Myron. They continued playing. 

"All right. So, we're winding down," said Myron, addressing the crowd fifteen minutes until midnight. He gave his closing comments, though he'd changed these up a little. Herman waved. "Herman says hi. Thank you so much for letting us play here tonight. You've no idea what it's like to be back home. Gideon threatened to flay me if I didn't get this gig. So, Professor Dumbledore." 

Myron saluted him and Professor Dumbledore nodded. The crowd laughed appreciatively as Myron made a show of checking his own pulse before positioning himself behind a keyboard. "Still alive. Whew. But, seriously, you're great people. So, we have a new single called "Paris is Burning" that I wrote for Donaghan, and I thought we'd try it out. What say you?" 

The crowd really didn't have a choice, despite the fact that Myron gave them an illusion of having one. They reeved like an engine, and Donaghan, his palms sweating, set his bass guitar aside. This song had been in the works for months, and it had been rewritten three times. It was a ballad about the French Revolution. Orsino played this really cool marshal drumming sequence. Singing was different than playing an instrument. Instead of angering the Beauxbatons lot, which had been a real concern, the night ended on a strong note. As the strong men broke down the stage and the students started leaving, Donaghan jumped off the platform and kissed Sarah. 

"That was amazing." Sarah took off her heels and threw her arms around his neck. "Who taught you to sing?" 

"Myron and my Grandad." Donaghan, still shaking from nerves, nodded at a tall, slender student. The tall girl seemed to be walking on the hem of her dress robes. Telling Sarah he'd be right back, smiling when she handed him a half-empty Butterbeer, he went to help the unsteady girl. As he approached her from this distance, although he had no idea where these students got their hands on this stuff, he smelled the liquor on her breath. He asked her name, which she gave as Alicia Spinnett, and steered her away from her date. She couldn't be the only one who got her hands on this stuff. "You're drunk. Go to bed." 

Alicia didn't say anything. She stood there giggling next to another girl who said she was on the Quidditch team. Donaghan, deciding to play it cool and not tell a teacher or the girl's Head of House, wanted to make sure she got off in one piece. He'd get her to the Grand Staircase. He caught a whiff of peppermint and told her there was much better stuff out there than peppermint-flavored whatever. 

Next thing he knew, this girl locked lips with him. Students who milled around stared at them, shocked. Sarah paled and ran off. When they broke apart, the girl opened her mouth to say something and got sick all over Donaghan. 

"All right, that's ..." This wasn't the first time this had happened at a show. In fact, if she hadn't gotten ill and he was Donaghan from a year ago, he probably would've taken her to bed. Except they were at school. He looked around, speechless and left the castle after Alicia's girlfriends took her up to bed. He cleaned the sick with a simple household spell and stormed out of Hogwarts Castle. 

He could see Sarah ahead and followed her towards Dervish and Banges.. "Sarah. Sarah, wait! You don't even know where you're going. Sarah!" 

"Don't." Sarah spun around when he grabbed her by the wrist. "You filthy ... that's a girl. They warned me about you! Even Myron. But I said Donaghan's a good man. I can do this alone. We'll be just fine. Jericho and me. You and your ... damn it." 

Sarah had meant to take off the engagement ring, but it got stuck on her finger. When he reached up to help her, and made to slap him, but he grabbed her wrist again. 

"That's not fair. You shouldn't hit people." Donaghan slid the ring off with a little difficulty and apologized as he pocketed it. "I was that bastard. She kissed me!" 

"Likely story." Sarah might have breathed fire through her nose. Donaghan froze and asked her why she called the kid Jericho. Momentarily forgetting her anger, she reminded him that they had chosen names, and she had agreed to give the baby his surname. They went into the Three Broomsticks. Rosmerta, waving them over enthusiastically, told them to sit at the bar. The place was dead. Sarah found her wallet in her handbag and slammed a greyscale stationary picture of an ultrasound on the bar. 

“You swear she kissed you?” 

“I swear.’” She tapped the ultrasound. "That's your son." 

"My son? How can you tell?" The snapshot looked like a deformed alien. He said so, and she laughed, pointing at something that wasn't a third arm. Taking a sharp breath in, Donaghan felt like this was real. "Damn." 

"Can he have a stout, please?" Sarah smiled at the barmaid. Rosmerta obliged. She seemed to notice he looked a little faint because she didn't ask him to play. Sarah steadied Donaghan. "Imagine how I feel. Don't throw up. Go shower. You smell." 

"Damn." He sounded like he was in a trace. He reached out to touch her, and Sarah, normal again, moved his hand. She asked if he felt anything as he got up. "Yeah." 

Rosmerta slammed a stout onto the bar and Donaghan slammed onto the floor. Both Sarah and Rosmerta screamed as Donaghan passed out. 

 

 

Jericho survived for a short time and passed away in Donaghan's arms. He'd left the band for a while, and although they claimed Gideon brought him back, it was Sarah. He married her. Donaghan learned things about himself as a married man; he liked matrimony, and he apparently had an unforeseen talent. A year a half after Jericho died in March 1995, Sarah was pregnant again. 

She'd proven rather skilled as a bank teller and worked for a large Muggle chain called Barclays . In early September, she'd been asked to come on to accounts receivable; she basically paid the bills for the London branch. The band made fun of him. Especially in Myron's view, Donaghan had been the last person he'd pegged as deliriously happily married. 

On the eleventh, he took the day off and tracked down a friend. With the tour dates and a handful of other excuses, he'd abandoned his friends. He walked down the street with Nymphadora Tonks and her new husband, Remus Lupin. When he pointed out the large building, Tonks looked impressed. There was a bicycle station off to the side. One of these belonged to Sarah. Donaghan, dressed in casual dress that put Remus Lupin to shame, walked in and joined a queue. 

"So, this is Barclays. They own the world." Donaghan helped himself to a pamphlet about a children's hospital.

"I see." Remus looked around and nodded at a boy in the next line with his mother. "Is it hard having accounts at both places?” 

“That, Remus, is why I’m married to a human calculator. Afternoon.” Donaghan took a white envelope out of his casual blazer. He handed it facedown to the teller. “Can you deposit this into the account ending in 5893? Sarah Tremlett.” 

“I.D.” The teller held out her hand. Donaghan took out his driver’s license and handed it over. She smiled, glancing at the photograph. “You’re her husband?” 

“Yep.” Donaghan asked her for a hundred pounds out of his checking account. When Tonks suggested a couple grand, Donaghan accepted that in a separate envelope and tucked it away for safekeeping because he’d bring it back. Tonks said nothing when he asked why; Remus suggested maybe it was for a rainy day. The teller offered to ring Sarah. “Sure. Thanks.” 

Minutes later, Sarah came down dressed in a grey business suit and heels. When he offered her the money, she gave him a questioning look, but she took it all the same. Tonks laughed. They exchanged introductions and Sarah waved to the teller. 

“She can’t believe I’m with you.” Sarah shooed them out of the building. Donaghan never though she was a plain Sarah, but he waved back all the same. “I tell them you work as anthropologist. You clean up really well as a Muggle.” 

“Well, my father is a mortician and Mum is a schoolteacher. The dead look good.” 

Donaghan didn't understand this occupation. “I’m a what?” 

“You study evolution and society,” said Remus, apparently giving him the short answer because Sarah nodded. She checked her bike before starting down the street. It was busy but people had taken their lunches much earlier. Sarah often forgot the clock and got lost in her work. 

“That’s sounds boring,” said Tonks and Donaghan together. 

“That’s the point.” Sarah waited to cross the street and slipped into a restaurant on the corner. Donaghan tossed a few coins at a musician who sat on a bench. She ordered some sweet food from two different booths and continued walking. The others got food, too, and she stopped by a man with a cardboard box that read “Kittens”. Dongahan said no, a definite hard no, and she scooped to a scrawny Siamese thing. “Look.” 

“Yes, it’s cute and cuddly,” said Donaghan fairly. It wasn't a kitten, but a cat . Guessing this was the mother, he picked up the fuzzy thing; it purred nonstop. He paid the vendor and nodded when Sarah mentioned she took a half-day. They adopted the cat and spent the next half hour in a pet shop and carted the fur ball off in a pet carrier. “Damnit.” 

“Pushover.” Tonks punched him in the arm and smiled at Sarah. “I don’t know if you’ve figured this out yet, but you can pretty much get anything you want from Donaghan. When you do have kids, it’s going to be spoiled rotten. Where are we going?” 

“Nearly there. You told me to surprise you last year.” Donaghan positioned her in front of Myron’s flat. Confused, saying she’d die paying for rent in this part of London, Tonks glanced at Sarah. Donaghan opened the door, and Tonks acted genuinely surprised he possessed a proper key to this place; she commended him for not breaking in. Donaghan patted her shoulders. “Remember when I forgot Christmas and your birthday last year?” 

Tonks snorted. “And our friendship? You get married and it goes to hell.” 

“Basically. Aren't you married?” Donaghan raised her left hand and his eyebrows. He acted offended, crossing his arms. “I didn’t receive a wedding invitation. How hard is it to send an owl that says, ‘Hey you, clear your timetable because I’m getting married.’?” 

“I didn’t get … I forgot.” Tonks winced apologetically at Sarah and settled on a compliment. “You’re really cute.” 

“Thank you,” said Sarah. 

“Uh huh. You’ve failed at life. Basically.” Donaghan nodded empathetically, putting on a show for his wife. He pounded up the stairs and beckoned for them to follow him. He did thank Tonks for the self-operating espresso machine. “One moment.” 

He poked his head into the recording studio and saw nobody at work. Myron read over invoices with Gideon and looked a little annoyed. Thinking they’d get to this later, Donaghan shoved Tonks inside and beamed at her. Orsino scrutinized the cover art in the corner. As they couldn’t do anything without Gideon’s wife, who was ruler of all things Weird Sisters, this was a light day. If she didn't get the point, and Donaghan would have to consider her stupid, he handed her two albums. 

He signed one, laughing as she read over his shoulder. 

“Question. Would you be willing to sing the acoustic version of ‘Tarot’?” Myron pointed at Donaghan without looking up. Donaghan didn’t know how he knew it was him, but Donaghan had mentioned he’d be back after lunch. Could one artist do the original track and the other the acoustic one? Their voices were completely different ranges, and they'd released the album only yesterday. “Yes? No? Maybe?” 

“No. I’m not you. I can't pretend to be you. Can everyone pause for a moment?” Orsino and Gideon looked up. Donaghan drummed his fingers on Tonks’s shoulders. She’d appeared to have lost her voice. Remus, Sarah, and Donaghan laughed. He waited a minute longer and spoke in a softer voice. “I think I’m forgiven, don’t you, Nymphadora?” 

“Uh huh.” She wasn't really listening to him anymore. Donaghan nodded, for he’d known he’d had this in the bag before he’d walked into the flat. The slate wiped itself clean. Donaghan sat her down in a swivel chair and imagined her as a little girl as she introduced herself. As time went by and she finally realized she had the whole afternoon with them, Tonks grew more confident.

Kirley stopped by around three with orange cream flavored ice creams and a question. Gideon was much more open whenever someone baited him with food. “Where’s your wife?” 

“Why?” Gideon handed Tonks an ice cream and glared at Kirley. “Oh, Kirley, what’d you do? It’s day one.” 

“Two,” said Donaghan and Myron. Gideon threw waded sheet music at them. 

“Don’t poke the bear!” Donaghan went to hide behind Remus. 

“What exactly do you expect me to do?” Remus smiled at Gideon. “You’re a large man. Your hands are as big as my face. You win.”

“Just once. I want a calm, no nonsense album release. Can we do that, fellas? I feel like a crisis manager - No, I sleep with your crisis manager. That’s worse. Kirley, sit down and shut up.” Gideon went to go send off an owl and put out a fire. 

“He looks familiar,” said Remus, pulling up a chair and scratching his chin. 

“He’s the bagpiper,” said Tonks. He asked for his full name, and she didn't know because Gideon wasn't exactly one of the favorites. He played the bagpipes, yes, but he also acted as the sometimes security bloke and put out fires whenever they cropped up. 

“Christopher Gideon Crumb II.” After putting the ice creams away, Myron laid back in his chair and got the confession out of Kirley. He’d been snatched by the paparazzi and leaked the first tour dates. 

When Gideon came back in, he acted calmer. Portia, his wife had already anticipated this happening. At least the album was out. This, apparently, although Donaghan didn't understand the ins and outs of this, that, and the other, worked to her advantage. He seemed to have noticed Remus for the first time and shook hands with the man like they were old friends. Remus, visibly lost, frowned at him and remained pleasant. 

“You haven’t the slightest idea who I am, do you?” Gideon frowned at him. 

“No, I don’t.” Remus ignored the others’ laughter. 

Gideon said he’ d expected as much. “I was two years ahead of you in school. You are the prefect who bribed me with Honeyduke’s sweets to tutor you in Potions and get you through your fifth year. I got you an Exceeds Expectations. You called me …” 

“Chubby Christopher. Yes! Hello.” Remus skipped the handshake and went straight to hugging Gideon. The band members exchanged looks, and Orsino asked if that man just hugged Papa Bear. Gideon knelt down on the floor as Remus explained to the others. “This man saved my life for a couple years. I’d never thought I’d see you again. You’re in a band? Never in a million years …” 

"I know. Check this out." Gideon took out his wallet and showed him something. "This is Portia. She's my wife. We're going on fourteen years." 

"No kidding? Chubby Christopher moved up in the world." Remus laughed with Gideon and decided to drop the Chubby Christopher. 

“Papa Bear doesn't let us get away with anything.” Kirley curled up in his chair and said he needed proper food because he was dwindling away. 

“You’re starving and you came with ice cream?” Gideon got up, saying he got it, and left the recording studio with Tonks, Remus, and Donaghan in tow. Sarah stole Donaghan’s comfy chair and hung out with the boys. Gideon clamored around the kitchen and made a lasagna from scratch. The ingredients flew into the air and the dish baked shortly after to formed itself. Donaghan, licking his lips, went to grab a slice, but Gideon slapped his hand with a spatula. “It needs to coagulate, you vulture. Hands off!” 

“Ouch.” Donaghan waved his hand and went to check on his Siamese friend; he came back a moment later with it in his arms. 

“That’s what you get. I don't know how Sarah puts up with you, Donaghan, I really don’t. You’re like a toddler trapped in a grown man’s body.” Gideon smirked when Tonks raised her hand and said she’d always said the same thing. Minus Sarah. Sarah hadn't yet been in the picture. “I don’t feed cats.” 

“Yeah, I know.” Donaghan frowned at the cat and opened a bag of food. He should have dropped it off at home. He put a handful in a bowl on the floor with the cat. For the past weeks, he’d been bursting to tell someone. Sarah had insisted they wait until they broke the news to the parents after the second trimester mark. This was only a month away, but he wanted to shout it from the rooftops. 

“What’s wrong with you?” Tonks looked at him suspiciously. “You look like a rabbit eating a carrot. Just say it.” 

Donaghan checked to make sure the coast was clear. If Sarah heard him slipping the beans, he'd never hear the end of it. Myron already knew; he didn't count. Sarah had been smart enough to know he wouldn’t shut up. He beamed at Gideon. “Sarah’s pregnant again!” 

“Oh? Oh.” Concerned, Gideon said nothing more. 

This set in. When Jericho had died, Gideon had been his rock - Donaghan had run off to be with Papa Bear and Portia. There were nights, horrible nights, when Gideon had held Donaghan as he cried himself to sleep. He held up a finger, silencing Tonks, who appeared to want to add something to this and steered him outside. Instead of having a chat in the sitting room, which would’ve suited Donhaghan just fine, they stepped out into the chilly autumn air. 

“I’m fine, Papa Bear.”

“You are not fine. You say that. You wonder why Sarah’s not said anything?” He lit a cigarette and started chain smoking. “Do you remember what you were like?” “It’s not … I’m moving on.” 

“Jericho destroyed you.” Gideon pocketed his lighter and took a long drag. Donaghan still visited the grave every Thursday like clockwork. Donaghan sat on the steps. “Sarah’s still got things in the nursery. Say his name.” 

The grin disappeared off Donaghan’s face. It was fine for other people to say his name, and he even sat through discussions about his boy, but he never crossed that bridge. In his mind, he knew this wasn't healthy. After he finished with his second cigarette, Gideon went back into the flat and came back minutes later with Nymphadora Tonks. She sat down beside him. 

“Shut up.” He refused to look at her. 

“Why didn’t you tell me? Look at me.” Tonks patted his knee. “Donaghan.” 

“What?” Donaghan’s voice broke as he turned towards her. The tears came fast. “What do you want me to say? I couldn't breathe. I lost my boy. Jericho fucking died in my arms, all right? I - I can’t … it hurts.” 

They said nothing for a while. Gideon stood sentinel and they waited for Donaghan to gather himself. Tonks wasn’t the sort to fall to pieces in front of him, which is why Donaghan enjoyed her company back in school. Tonks wasn't a girly girl. 

“So, I know this is totally inappropriate,” said Tonks, turning when the door opened and Remus stepped outside. Gideon went back to his smoking. She patted Donaghan’s knee again. She laughed and snorted a little. 

“Share.” Donaghan rolled his eyes. 

“This is me talking crazy for a moment,” Tonks hedged. 

“She’s not mad?” Donaghan checked Remus’s smile when Tonks slapped him a little too hard. “Ouch. That hurt.” 

“If you hit me, I swear I’ll hex you so fast, Mr. Tremlett.” Tonks started laughing again when Donaghan raised his hands in a gesture of surrender. “So, back to my master plan. I’m pregnant, too. No. Go with me. We should do an arranged marriage. It’s perfect.” 

They looked at each other seriously for a moment and burst out laughing. Donaghan laughed so hard he cried. Remus wore a bemused smile. Gideon grumbled that they were idiots and went to buy more smokes at the nearby shop. Donaghan, relaxed, draped his arm over Tonks’s shoulder. They sat outside and watched the sun set. Donaghan had forgotten his sister, and he regretted this. 

 

 

Things changed drastically. Why hadn't Donaghan thought of an escape route? The Weird Sisters made a pact not to turn themselves in to the Muggle-born Registration Committee. In early autumn, Myron took Merton, who was a Muggle-born and his boyfriend, or his fiancé, or his whatever into hiding. Donaghan never felt too certain about where those two stood, and he doubted they knew. Gideon did the same with his wife, Portia, although they went their separate ways. And Gideon escaped to somewhere in Scotland. 

A couple weeks later, Donaghan came home to a house fire and went into a panic. The Tonks family took them in. He didn't have to ask; Andromeda told him to come home. She said that word for word. Sarah kept her job at the bank, and Donaghan went back to being the starving artist tramp on the street corner. He’d done it before. He was a they with a kid on the way, so he felt on shame in his tramp scheme. He waited tables at a Muggle establishment, too, and he bit the bullet for Sarah. This was temporary. Please, for the love of Merlin, let this be temporary. 

They stayed in the spare bedroom Donaghan guessed was supposed to be used for Tonks’s kid. Ted never complained. Andromeda let herself be heard. It was a tight fit with six people, three married couples with two babies on the way, and they hated living on top of each other. Sarah came home in the middle of October, Andromeda tore her a new one about leaving the laundry overnight. As Sarah and Ted were the only ones with high-paying careers at the moment, Andromeda couldn't kick her out. Tonks had left the Ministry because she’d had enough. 

Tonks and Donaghan found Sarah huddled in a bedroom cupboard with a coffee in her hands. 

“Your mummy’s mean,” said Donaghan, smiling at Tonks. 

“No, it’s fine. I had a long day and …” Sarah took out her hair clip and let her hair fall. “I needed a moment.” 

“She yelled at you for a good five minutes.” Donaghan offered her a hand and pulled her to her feet. “Why’re you drinking coffee?” “With Andromeda, you’re lucky that's not something stronger.” Tonks sat on the bed with them. Remus edged inside like he waited for a bomb to go off and said it was not him this time. Donaghan pointed at Sarah and ratted her out. “You wake up at five in the morning! She’s raving over some laundry? Get the hell out.” 

Sarah cupped the coffee in her hands. “We can leave.” 

“She’s not telling you to leave,” said Remus, laughing at her. “Ah, Sarah, you’re good to have around.” 

“No, Sarah. Donaghan, your wife’s adorable. Sarah. I’ll do your laundry. Mum forgets you’re forking over half the mortgage payment. When you think about it, that’s not exactly fair.” Tonks took a white envelope from both Donaghan and Sarah. Sarah counted her Muggle money in front of her. “I trust you.” 

“It’s a habit.” Sarah got up at five and got home around seven, and she changed into her night things in a hurry whenever she got home. Except for Mondays and Fridays, Donaghan pulled a shift and got evenings off. He worked weekends. She pointed out the beds shoved amongst the baby stuff. Their bed was actually two single beds put together. “This is a bad idea. We really do need to leave.” 

“Sarah.” Tonks frowned at her. “Where are you going to go?” 

They couldn’t go to their parents’ houses because then they’d be placing others in danger. As their parents were Muggles who had absolutely nothing to do with the magical world, neither Sarah nor Donaghan felt comfortable imposing; Sarah’s parents didn’t know she’d married a wizard. Sarah said she didn't know. Donaghan helped her up, and she went to go grab the laundry. He’d wanted to leave two weeks ago when Ted flipped out over personal space. Donaghan said the same thing. 

“Not this again!” Tonks threw up her hands in exasperation. 

There was a knock on the door. Both Remus and Tonks instinctively drew their wands. Donaghan listened as Ted’s mellow voice floated up the stairs. When he heard someone cry out, Donaghan guessed it was Sarah. He backed towards the door, placing a finger to this lips and held up a hand as he left of the bedroom. Snatchers and Death Eaters had no idea there were two hideouts in the house. He went downstairs, clutching his wand, and saw a bandy-legged man grip Sarah’s arm. 

Ted, furious, went over and snatched something out of a scrapbook. He tore the photograph and brandished it in front of them. Donaghan froze when he spotted Tonks and Remus on the landing. 

“There! Blonde. Unhand my daughter. You are hurting her!” Ted gave them the photograph. When they asked for his name, Ted didn't hesitate when he said Smethwyck. “If you don't release her, sir, I have a right to throw you out.” “Smethwyck. Ain’t that a Healer?” asked a man. “Invite us inside.” 

Donaghan could not see the men because Ted stood in the doorway. Ted said no, a polite no, through his controlled his anger. A Death Eater would’ve known this was the house of Ted and Andromeda Tonks. If nothing else, Bellatrix Lestrange was Andromeda’s sister, and there would be no question over Ted Tonks’s blood status. Ted gave a half-truth and said he was a matron at St. Mungo’s. The Snatchers sounded stupid. 

“Let my daughter go.” Ted spoke calmly but forcibly. The Snatcher spoke to Sarah and laughed when she shook her head, terrified. When they left, Ted closed the door slowly and turned the latch. He slid onto the floor, pale, and buried his face in his hands, cursing fluently. “Get me a drink.” 

As Donaghan, Tonks, and Remus came downstairs, Andromeda went into the kitchen and came back with a shot of brandy. Ted, shaking, downed it and closed his eyes. 

“Ted,” said Andromeda. 

“That’s it. I’m leaving,” said Ted firmly. 

Ted handed her the empty glass and got to his feet. He explained that Hippocrates Smethwyck, a Healer and close friend, had given him his name as a cover. But as Hippocrates had a wife and small children, he couldn’t play that card again. It wasn't worth it. He’d given the Snatcher one of Tonks’s newborn baby pictures. 

“Thank you,” said Sarah. 

“Oh, darling. You don’t thank me for anything.” Ted hugged her until she stopped shaking. “I’ve got two daughters and a son, yeah? It’s my job, isn't it? You’re mine because you’re Donaghan’s yeah?” 

Sarah nodded when he released her. Shouting at Donaghan to get ready, Ted went upstairs to grab his things. Ted had been ready to go ever since they released that the article about the Muggle-born Registration Committee got released last August. Sarah started to fold clothes, but Andromeda cleared that up with a simple flick of her wand. She went upstairs and packed for her, too, using a similar household spell. 

“Mum, stop.” Tonks stood in the doorway as Donaghan double-checked his bags. “Dad can't leave. Sarah … she’s having a baby. You can’t just - just wait!” 

Ted and Remus, who were coming from Tonks’s parents’ bedroom, froze in the corridor and stared at her. Donaghan told Sarah to go into the bathroom and change. Tonks turned to her father and begged him not to leave. They'd figure something out. 

“Like what? If they find out we’re harboring Muggles and drag them away, what do you think they’ll do? They’re not questioning anymore, Nymphadora.” Andromeda went into her bedroom and grabbed a brand-new dressing gown and pajamas. “It’s for Sarah’s birthday. It’s not much, but she wears that raggedy thing.” 

“Thanks, ‘Dromeda,” said Donaghan, kissing her on the cheek. She wiped her eyes and patted him. She left them in the bedroom. 

“You can’t … you can’t stop running.” Tonks walked over to him and handed him a sheathed knife for Sarah. She threw her arms around his neck. “I love you, brother.”  
“It’ll be fine. When this is over, we’ll discuss wedding plans for our kids and plan to do shit. Stuff.” 

Donaghan edited when Ted raised his eyebrows. When Ted went downstairs to say goodbye to his wife, Donaghan nodded at Remus. When Sarah came out dressed in comfortable clothes, he went into the corridor and placed a hand on Remus’s shoulder. He’d heard about Remus’s walking out and spending an afternoon at a pub. Whilst he understood it, Tonks was his little sister and stuff needed to be said. He lowered his voice, dead serious. 

“I don't care what happens, you don’t leave. These two mean the world to me.” Donaghan pointed at Tonks and Sarah. He smiled when Remus shook his hand and said he was against the whole arranged marriage thing. It was obviously an ongoing joke. 

“We’ll table that discussion for later, mate. They’re going to be best friends.” Donaghan shook hands with him. “I’ll settle for that.” 

“Bestest friends.” Tonks punched through the air. Taking the money from Tonks, Sarah offered to carry stuff, but Donaghan heard none of it. 

“Bye, Sarah.” Remus hugged her. Sarah said goodbye. “Stay safe. You’ll be fine.” 

They started downstairs. Tonks called after Donaghan. “Donaghan.” 

“I can’t run away if some pixie keeps chatting.” Donaghan walked downstairs backwards and kept an eye on Sarah. Tonks shrugged. He gave her the old line as she tossed him their updated fake I.D. cards. Donaghan caught them with a deft hand. “You’re my bestest friend, and I love you, too. Happy?” 

She nodded enthusiastically. Donaghan gave Andromeda a one-armed hug and smiled when she draped a traveling cloak over Sarah’s shoulders. Andromeda fretted over her being warm and comfortable. Ted said they were off, so they went outside and headed towards the Apparition point. 

They Disapparated. 

 

 

Shortly after dawn in early March, March ninth to be exact, Ted Tonks offered Donaghan a bundle. A girl. They lived in a tent that had been magically modified inside. As a matron, Ted said he’d done this before at St. Mungo’s, but he’d never imagined doing this whilst on the run. He called it a camping trip. He was actually a really good travel companion and kept things light. 

“There you are. I’ll be right back.” After grabbing this and that, Ted went to go wash up and grab some food. 

“One hell of a camping trip.” Donaghan handed the baby to Sarah. She laid on a mattress with fitted sheets and a comforter on the floor. He kissed her on the forehead and held up two fingers. “Jericho would be this many today.” 

“I know.” Sarah froze when they heard voices outside. Knowing their protective charms held, Donaghan placed a finger to his lips and grabbed his wand. “Don’t.” 

“I’ll be right outside. I’m going to find Dean.” Months ago, Donaghan had found a kid, a black seventh-year Hogwarts student, nicking stuff from a store. Donaghan had gone back into the store and paid for stuff. Over the last few days, wanting to get away from Sarah, no doubt, he’d wandered outside. Donaghan found him grabbing kindling for a fire. “Hey.” 

“Hey.” Dean handed him a bundle of dead wood and sticks and went to gather more. Donaghan helped him. “Are you really a Weird Sister? You look like a regular bloke.” 

“I was. I am.” Donaghan went back with him three more times and grabbed the matchbook in his back pocket. Dean, smirking, pointed his wand at the stack and flames cracked there. He’d nicked an acoustic guitar for Donaghan, too, and although Donaghan said this was wrong, he enjoyed the gift. He sat down and strummed a chord. “Ever heard us play? I swear to God, I play bass.” 

“At the Yule Ball.” 

“Really?” Donaghan snapped his fingers as he remembered something about a girl throwing up on him. Dean looked skeptical. Smirking, Donaghan singing a bit of “There She Goes” and laughed a little, breaking his chord, when Dean started jumping up and down, stringing unconnected curse words together. 

“You are kidding me? Ted, Ted!” Dean waved Ted down. Ted, drying his hair with a towel and pulling on a shirt, did a double take. He shrugged. “Ted, do you know who this is?” 

“Caught, on, have you? Come on, Dad.” Ted carried some fish and some rice they’d bought on the last grocery run. Donaghan followed him and Dean back towards the tent. Sarah hastily covered herself when she spotted Dean and held the baby close. “How are we doing, Sarah?” 

“Fine,” she said sleepily. 

“On the plus side, I think we’ve kept Dean from having sex for a long time.” Donaghan clapped Dean on the shoulder. Even with the protective charms and spells around the tent, Sarah had screamed for hours. Dean looked a little green and jerked his head at the baby. “Hooray for abstinence?” 

Ted, working at the range, snorted. It started raining. Ted roasted the vegetables inside and went to cook the fish outside so they wouldn't be caught with the smell. Dean went to help him. Sarah took this time to feed the baby. They had nothing more than diapers, a few changes of clothes and a secondhand, beaten up bassinet. Donaghan went to go wash the other bed linens as she dozed off. He magicked a clothesline and hung these to dry. 

Ted, soaked, came back with the food and cursed when he realized Dean had run off again. So he went to go fetch him, saying the boy needed to be kept on a leash. Twigs snapped and there were unfamiliar voices. Sarah, scared out of her mind, shushed the baby with a nervous tone. 

“Sarah, shut her up!” 

Donaghan hissed at her as he grabbed his wand. Despite their magical defenses, the Snatchers sounded close. Too close. They heard a commotion and flash of green light reflected off the canvas. There was a popping sound. The voices, one of them raspy, ordered them to search. Silent tears streamed down Sarah’s face. Scared to death, Donaghan found Ted’s stocked potions kit and grabbed the sleeping draught. 

“Shhh, Sarah, she’s fine. Just a drop, okay?” 

Desperate, ignoring Sarah as she shook her head, he opened the bottle and tipped two drops into his daughter’s mouth. The next two minutes seemed to last an age. Finally, the baby fell asleep and the footsteps went away, and people Disapparated. Two minutes later, for Donaghan kept an eye on his watch, there was another loud crack. When Donaghan made it outside, stepping over an invisible barrier, he found Dean’s football. The fire, hastily extinguished, lay feet away. 

Ted lay beside it, his eyes empty. Donaghan checked his pulse out of instinct, and he shuttered when he felt nothing. He touched a shaking hand to his lips and blinked his eyes furiously. There was no Dean. When he let go of Ted’s hand, it fell into the ground. 

They were quite alone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I do a different POV with every chapter. This is Donaghan who I accidentally posted as a one-shot. Hope you like it. Let me know what you think.


	3. Myron Wagtail

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Myron loses his best mate.

Myron woke to banging on his door in the middle of the night. It rained buckets. He lived in the sprawling flat with a studio in it. Seth slept beside him. A couple minutes later, the unexpected visitor pounded on the door again, this time at the bedroom window, and Seth sat bolt upright. Myron shushed him as the person went back around the other way. He grabbed the candle and listened at the quiet voices outside the door. He went to the door clutching his wand and placed his hand on the door handle. 

"Who is it?" he asked. This place was Unplottable!

"It's freezing out here. It is – or me or I – Donaghan Liam Tremlett. You call me Galway Bay. Er, I own a teddy bear called Winston. Winston the Bear. I should've practiced this." There was a loud cry and the man outside paused, weary. Someone gave over to a hacking fit. "Please let us in. I haven't got an umbrella. I need food. Help us, please, and we'll leave. I haven't... I've been running for two days with nothing. Please. Brother." 

"Donaghan." Myron checked the corner but it was only Seth. He opened the door. On the threshold, soaked, stood Donaghan, in casual clothing; he hid something under his traveling cloak, a bundle. It wailed. Sarah wore a flowery dress that did nothing to disguise her bulge. Seth and Myron shooed them inside; Sarah nearly collapsed over the threshold. Seth caught her and helped her over to a chair. 

"You look like hell," said Seth, starting a fire before busying him with fetching stuff in the kitchen. Donaghan uncovered the newborn and handed it over to Sarah. Sarah, unashamed, undid her dress and started feeding the baby. 

"Let us rest; we'll be gone," Donaghan pleaded. 

Myron told him to stay for as long as he wished. Myron watched Sarah, smiling despite his fear. "How old is she? She's beautiful." 

"It is a she?" asked Seth. 

Sarah nodded. He led Donaghan upstairs to change his clothes and take a shower. They came back downstairs. In that time, Myron had gathered that Sarah gave birth three days ago in the woods and Snatchers were following them. After he convinced Sarah to step away, Donaghan grabbed his damp rucksack, changed a nappy, and wrapped the baby. He'd lost weight. 

"She hasn't got one," said Donaghan, when Seth asked for a name. "Ted died. Our travel companion, and I had to move the girls. She and Sarah caught something, or maybe Sarah passed it on. Ted died ... he just died ... and these idiots are following us ... and I didn't know where to go. Myron." 

"I know," said Myron. 

"You can't stay here," said Seth quite suddenly. "There are too many Muggles at this place. They know the general location, and there are five mouths to feed." 

"Seth. Merton." Myron, annoyed, frowned at him. 

Weren't all the Weird Sisters family? Things were tight, no doubt, but they'd get by. He conjured food, a hearty breakfast and ate with them in the sitting room. Donaghan scarfed down the food and asked for more. Myron held the now sleeping baby and ate one-handed. Donaghan said he missed toast, buttered toast, and a proper shower. Sarah smiled as she ate slowly. Seth, meantime, rattled on about weak security measures. They'd let strangers in their home. 

"Watch it, Seth." Donaghan said Seth's name as a biting insult. 

"He's a Weird Sister, this is his home," said Sarah meekly. 

Myron paid the rent and footed the bills, yet they all made music here. Seth didn't give it a rest. Even though his dear friend Sarah was on the line here, he kept coming. What if Death Eaters came and searched the place? Seth and Myron couldn't pretend to have spousal privilege because same-sex marriage wasn't legal, and wives and husbands were dragged away anyway. This was a witch hunt. After they were fed, Seth ran off to do some shopping with Donaghan. The two barely spoke. Myron showed Sarah to the guest bedroom and found a large wicker basket for the baby in the cupboard. 

"I know it's nothing." Myron knew nothing about babies. He Transfigured this into a wicker bassinet. Sarah pecked him on the cheek. Myron, in spite of his shoddy job, made a bed and put the baby down. "My goddaughter's lovely. She is my goddaughter, right? Because I don't support some wayward baby." 

"Yes." Sarah handed him their dirty clothes. She wore a dressing gown at the moment. "Donaghan said she's been yours and Tonks's from the start." 

"Oh, the pixie girl. What fun. Don't die." 

Myron switched to a serious frown. He didn't know Nymphadora Tonks. She could be great for all he knew. But who wanted to raise a child with a stranger? He started the laundry and came back for Sarah's unmentionables. With a load in the wash, he tidied the already organized spare bedroom. The baby started fussing again, and Sarah draped herself with a towel as she fed the baby in an armchair. She rolled her eyes when Myron stared. 

 

"Just say it. Donaghan says I exploded." She chuckled when Myron made a noncommittal sound. He shared his concerns about Tonks. Sarah lay back, thinking. "Well, she's having a baby of her own, and before you say anything, I don't know her either. And I said no. But she knows Donaghan. Better than me. And so do you. Get to know her." 

Myron squirmed uncomfortably. Sure, he batted for the other team, but he was no porcelain doll. He went fishing. "So, like a concert?" 

Sarah looked skeptical. "You lot attend concerts all the time?" 

"Er, yeah. Have you met your husband?" Myron raised an eyebrow. He suggested it as an anniversary present. "Five years go, we took a week. Him, me, and quiet Herman. Eight concerts in seven days. All Muggle bands. It was awesome!" 

"Scouting out the competition?" 

"No, no. Donaghan needed a reprieve. How're we going to compete with Muggles? No." Myron went into his secret stash of getaway stuff and gave her two options. Not knowing how familiar she was with the Muggle music scene, he turned the tickets over. One was for October and the other in mid-January. He explained he got these at discount prices. "A or B?" 

"Who are they? Oooh, do Muggles get to see the Weird Sisters?" Sarah shifted the baby and frowned when he gave an evasive yes; the bands didn't matter. "It matters. It's a name. If we're talking nobodies ..."' 

"Ha! Name your child." Myron got to his feet when he heard shouting. He stuffed the tickets in his back pocket and headed downstairs. Sarah, relaxing, rocked in a chair that didn't rock. Donaghan and Seth ripped into each other. Donaghan slammed some plastic bags down on the counter and the baby cried out upstairs. As they were just living here, the noise cancelling spells hadn't been activated. "Well done, boys, well done. What is the matter?" 

"I'm leaving," hissed Donaghan, setting up a black pram. "I've upset the delicate balance of your boyfriend. We're fed and watered. Thank you." 

Donaghan took out his flat keys and left them on the counter. He explained, with tedious interruptions from Seth that didn't really help, that this living arrangement wouldn't work. Seth feared for his life, and although the flat was Unplottable, they'd spotted a Death Eater. Or perhaps it wasn't a Death Eater. He gathered his food and baby stuff, grabbed a onesie, and stormed upstairs. Myron switched the laundry over to the dryer. 

"What did you say?" Myron asked Seth. 

"I'm right. The more Muggle-borns or Muggles here, Myron, and you're in trouble. You don't really know that they are who they claim. These shaky answers to the security questions?" Seth stacked his canned goods and his can opener in the pantry. 

"I doubt an imposter would give birth," said Myron, unconvinced of this far-fetched drama. He scoffed. "What did she do? Disguise herself after killing Donaghan and the real Sarah? And, oh, steal their baby? She's a wet nurse. Sarah and that little girl have the flu or something. We send them away and they die. Is that what you want? What makes you more important?" 

Seth stood his ground. "I'm your boyfriend." 

Myron let him put the rest of the groceries away without help. He jabbed a finger towards the staircase before he brewed some lemon and honey tea and made comfort food. "That is my brother and goddaughter. The last time I checked, you and Sarah were friends. Good friends. There's a concealed place in that bedroom. They are family."

Myron carried a laden tray of tea, soup, and toasties upstairs. Donaghan was moving around. "She's in a dressing gown." 

Sarah, hacking up phlegm again, spit up on herself. Myron set the tray down and felt her forehead. "I'm fine. We'll go."

"No. You're not going anywhere," said Myron, leading her over to the bed and tucking her in. He conjured a flannel and a bowl of warm water; he wrung the flannel and wiped her sweaty face. Sarah drifted off to sleep as Donaghan started a fire and started pacing the bedroom. "The girls will die out there, mate." 

"Don't you think I know that? They're my responsibility." Donaghan ran his hand through his hair. "I'll pay you back. I ran out of money. Sarah caught cold before she went into labor. I think Ted was sick, too, and Ted gave her pain relief pills. I grabbed bottles at the pharmacy." 

"Eat. There's more." Myron followed his pained gaze. Donaghan sipped the chicken noodle soup. 

"You-Know-Who should starve us out. Effective and efficient," said Donaghan, who looked half-starved already. Myron explained how You-Know-Who's name was taboo, and someone nearby their hiding place must've said it. Donaghan conjured a set of new baby blankets from downstairs and tucked his daughter in a cocoon. "I love her." 

"I know," said Myron, taking this as a blanket comment for both Tremlett girls. He smiled when the books stacked themselves on Sarah's beside table. How could the government claim Muggles couldn't have their own magic. "Is that her?" 

"I dunno. Is that you, my rose?" Donaghan picked her up and hummed a song or lullaby Myron didn't recognize. 

Myron beamed him and clapped his hands together. "Oh, look. I think you named your girl." 

"What? Yeah, nothing seemed to fit. Oh. No. How about Catriona Rose." Donaghan supported the baby's head and patted her back. "Yeah. You like that? Hey, Sarah. Sarah!" 

"Shhhh, mate, she's sleeping." Myron rolled his eyes when Sarah grunted in response and opened her eyes. 

"Catriona Rose, eh? Eh?" Donaghan pointed enthusiastically at the baby. Sarah muttered something under her breath neither of them caught and snored herself back to sleep. "She didn't get that." 

"No." 

There was a knock on the door. Seth, who used his stage name as his family name, could tie himself back to an old family. Graves. There was a Percival Graves somewhere in the history books. Myron wanted to claim Donaghan as his brother, his actual brother, but this was too obvious. Seth answered the door. Myron wondered for the hundredth time whether this place was truly Unplottable or not because Herman and Heathcote had had to do the enchantments and spells over and over. There were voices, hurried voices, and someone, Seth, got shoved back.

"An Order to search the place for Muggle-borns," said a voice. 

"Oh, yeah? Come in," said Seth in a shaky voice. 

Donaghan went as white as a sheet. "Shit. Sarah, get up!" 

Handing Catriona off to Myron, Donaghan pulled her out of bed as Myron pressed his hand against the wall. A door opened into a passageway they rarely used. Sarah, drowsy from sleep, mumbled and got shoved inside. Donaghan budged in with her. It was a tight fit and the baby started crying as soon as Myron sealed the secret panel. The wall fixed itself and went flush.

Myron stepped outside. He shook hands with Corban Yaxley, Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. Wondering aloud why he'd receive such a visit, Myron pretended to be flattered. It must be because he was a Weird Sister! He was chatty, hopefully not too chatty, but chatty all the same. Yaxley ignored him and said there were two others from the Muggle-born Registration Committee downstairs. 

"Oh, well, it's just me and Merton here," said Myron. He stepped aside as he started the room. 

"Where's the baby?" Yaxley glared at him. Myron said he had no children. Yaxley threw a pink blanket at him. "You sure?" 

"Well, I am adopting," said Myron, catching the blanket. Yaxley raised his eyebrows, so Myron went on rambling. "From a prominent pure-blood family, of course. Why're you searching the trash? That's my bathroom?" 

Yaxley, ignoring him, made himself at home and came back into the bedroom with a dirty nappy. He threw this at Myron, too, and hit his mark this time. Myron heard a sharp intake of air, but Yaxley appeared not to notice. He asked about the laden tray and the unmade bed. Myron had an excuse for this, too, saying wildly that he felt under the weather and Merton was caring for him. Why wasn't he in the master bedroom? The flat was in Myron's name. 

"I like the light," he said, tapping his chest and coughing dryly. Sarah coughed. Myron, panicked, tried to come up with some story. Any story. "Merton and I are together. And ... and I didn't want to get him ill." 

"Yaxley." An officer came in and handed him a dress, Sarah's other clothes, and a tattered traveling cloak. Sarah's dress. 

"You swing both ways, do you?" Yaxley grinned at Myron as he turned to his officer. "Strip it down. "

They found Donaghan's family within three minutes. Sarah, frightened, clung to Donaghan and held the baby close. He asked them to come out. 

"No," said Donaghan, defiant. The officer restrained Myron.

"All right. You stay. We've been looking for you, I think. You." Speaking in a friendly, conversational tone, Yaxley took a hold of Sarah's hair and pulled her into the bedroom. Screaming, she gazed up at Yaxley with tears streaming down her face. He let her go and tossed her clothes at her once Donaghan gave up. "Get dressed, you filthy Muggle cow. Give me the baby." 

"No."' Sarah cowered against the wall when Yaxley took out his wand. The baby made sounds. "Donaghan!"

"Ah, so it is you. I thought so. Donaghan Tremlett. Your wife's leaking. Looks plain. Get dressed." Yaxley shoved Sarah towards the bathroom and gave her three minutes. He disarmed Donaghan easily and caught his wand. "Muggles breeding Muggles. She's not even worth it. Join us." 

Donaghan shook his head and acted like he wanted to crawl out of his skin. 

"You want to do this the hard way? All right." Yaxley nodded at the Muggle-born Committee officer who showed Myron a roll of parchment. It was a warrant to search the premises, signed by a Dolores Umbridge and Corban Yaxley. "I will take your daughter and bash her soft head against the wall. Like an egg. I'll make your wife watch. And then I'll kill her right in front of you. Ah, here she comes." 

Yaxley rested a hand on Sarah's shoulder when she stepped back into the bedroom. Myron, horrified, watched Sarah shiver as Yaxley offered her the other pink blanket. Sarah wrapped Cat as Donaghan took the lead and walked out of the door. When they got downstairs, Yaxley smiled as Donaghan placed Catriona in a pram and covered her with the blanket Myron gave him. The officer suggested Myron come along. They walked down the street together, Donaghan pushing the pram up front, and headed to the Ministry of Magic. 

 

When they arrived at the Ministry, they walked straight past people huddled on a bench. Myron saw them. Donaghan's knuckles turned white, but he looked determinedly ahead. They let him go into the small room with his family and Myron. Whilst Myron got a few second looks, Donaghan looked weak, a ghost of his former self. They looked up at a bench. Myron recognized the toad-like face of Dolores Umbridge. There was a middle-aged woman he did not know. 

"Sit down." Madam Umbridge pointed at a single chair. 

"My baby's ill," said Donaghan. 

"That's not my concern. Please sit, Mr. Tremlett," said Umbridge sweetly. 

Dolores Umbridge smiled when Yaxley forced Donaghan into a chair; chains rattled and bound him there like coiled snakes. Neither Myron or Sarah were offered a chair. Yaxley went to join the others on the bench, and he said nothing when Sarah edged over to the pram. After she conjured a Patronus, a long-haired, silvery cat, it preened around like a content kitty guarding those at the bench. 

"Seven o'clock. First trial of the day. Bring in the dementors." Umbridge opened a folder and sipped a cup of tea. 

"What the hell?" asked Donaghan and Myron together as they exchanged a dark look. 

"Oh, you have nothing to worry about Mr. Wagtail. Unless you have something to hide. Would you like some tea?" Madam Umbridge drummed her fingers on the bench. Myron said no. Umbridge said nothing to Sarah as she stood there hacking her lungs out. 

"Offer her a chair, please," said Myron, gritting his teeth. 

Umbridge pretended not to hear him. As the dementors swooped in, Sarah, who couldn't see the figures, although she felt them, got closer to Catriona and shushed her. Yaxley insisted she wait outside. "No, Corban, she can stay." 

Sarah bowed her head. Umbridge shuffled her papers and addressed Donaghan. "You are Donaghan Liam Tremlett?" 

"Yes." 

"Married to Sarah Miller Tremlett? A Muggle? Muggle-borns and Muggles?" Umbridge gave a derisive laugh like she already made her call on this matter. "Why even bother? Is that correct, Mr. Tremlett?" 

"Yes," he said, annoyed. Myron hated her instantly, too. 

Umbridge ignored the fact that she was there, or at least she pretended to. Sarah chose silence. Donaghan hadn't slept in days. It was obvious with his speech, especially with the added stress of the dementors. Though he had initially taken Umbridge’s move as a courtesy, Myron noticed she kept her eye on Sarah like she was a juicy fly. She liked squirming. 

“We gave you an opportunity to openly divulge this information,” continued Umbridge, citing this or that of a law. “Why did you choose not to do that? You simply fill out a questionnaire, sir, this is for your benefit. Not mine. I’m a Selwyn. Someone stole a precious heirloom from me, but I have nothing to fear as I’m a pure-blood.”

“Lucky you.” Donaghan spoke softly, but his voice carried in the small room. He complained that since he voluntarily chose not to fill out her stupid paperwork, he didn't know how she knew his parents were a schoolteacher and a mortician. How did she know he had an elder sister called Rosemary? Myron, impressed, stood beside him and considered these fair questions. She asked after his sister. “I’m not telling you that.”

“We have Veritserum,” she said. 

“That. That would be coercion.” 

Donaghan knew she didn't need it. Even as he said it, the dementor reached towards him with a scabbed hand. Myron shouted at them to stop. Although Sarah saw nothing, her knees buckled. Myron went to catch her, but he didn’t get there before she fell to the ground. He got out his wand and muttered the incantation for a Patronus Charm, but he only managed a thin wisp of smoke. 

“Mr. Wagtail, I insist you put away your wand because you are interrupting my proceedings.” Umbridge waited until he did as she said. 

“Myron,” said Donaghan, asking after Sarah. Everyone noted the panic in his voice. 

“She’s fine. Sarah? Sarah.” Myron let a couple officers from the Muggle-born Registration Committee take them back into the hall. He went back to get the baby and got denied to come back. They sat in between a fat man and a witch wearing glasses. When Sarah finally came around, people offered to help her with the baby. 

“No, thank you.” Sarah leaned on Myron and rested her head on his chest. They waited and waited. There was no clock on the wall. “Myron?” 

“Hmmm?” Myron’s knee shook against the pram. 

“We’ll be fine, right?” Sarah nodded to herself when he offered nothing more than silence. “How is Donaghan supposed to have stolen magic when his sister is normal? Wouldn't Rosemary have wanted to be a witch?” 

“Your guess is as good as mine.” Myron had no answer to this question. He went with the Squib theory, personally, but he didn't know if she was awake enough for this argument. A magical child could choose to go to a Muggle school. Myron didn’t know why they’d choose this route, but they could have easily chosen Eton over Hogwarts; Myron got this offer when he was eleven. “I do not know.” 

Sarah waded through the silence. She asked for the bathroom and changed Catriona. “Myron?” 

“Sarah?” 

“Do you think Donaghan is a good man? Do you think he’s a thief?” 

“Oh, honey, no.” Myron shrugged apologetically at a few waiting Muggles. Donaghan’s trial went on and on. “He’s my best friend. He’s not a thief. Why would a child steal magic? How can child after child, Muggle-born after Muggle-born, steal magic?”

None of the other Muggle-borns seemed to want to join in on their conversation. Perhaps they thought he was planted amongst them to gather information about how they’d supposedly stolen magic. If children were so equipped to steal magic and won over that wand’s allegiance so easily, why weren't there folks rounding up the children and studying them? 

A chilling scream echoed throughout the hall. And then there was nothing. A minute later, Donaghan walked through the doors. He wore no smile. As Myron approached him, he didn't seem to recognize him. He almost walked right past them. He stared at the baby without seeing her and passed a hand over her face, so Myron, shocked, spun him around and stared into his dark, empty eyes. 

Sarah got up and followed Donaghan. “Don … Donaghan?” 

Myron, terrified, stared past her. “Sarah, he's not there. He’s gone.” 

Donaghan walked right past Sarah and disappeared into the crowd. 

Sarah mustered enough courage to approach Madam Umbridge as she came out, her silvery cat circling her. Umbridge advised them to let this be an example. She really, really hoped for a better morning. Why not start off again on the right foot? Sarah demanded to know what happened to her husband. 

“Muggles. So simple, so close-minded.” Umbridge gaped at Sarah when she struck her. 

She recovered almost instantly and had them thrown off the premises. Myron explained to her, almost as if this was an out of body experience and he spoke with another’s voice, about the Dementor’s Kiss. Sarah stopped, fell to her knees on the pavement and gave a dry sob. Inconsolable, she screamed when Myron tried to wrap his arms around her. He backed away, not knowing what to say. He felt numb. 

 

“They should’ve killed him.” Tonks stared into her empty mug. She cupped it in her hands and saw nothing. Sarah slept upstairs after Andromeda Tonks got a little heavy handed with a sleeping draught. 

Myron wondered why her hair was a shade of brown today, but he didn't ask. This was worse than telling Sarah. Remus sat beside her. He squeezed her hand and disagreed with her. 

“No, they should’ve killed him.” Tonks seemed beyond tears and spoke without emotion. She picked up a glass, weighed it on her hand, and threw it at the opposite wall. Myron ducked. 

“Nymphadora!” Her mother stared at her. 

“Mad-Eye had a list to keep him going,” she said, nodding to herself and ignoring her mother. She picked up another glass and passed it from one hand to the other. “I’m done. Bellatrix Lestrange. Corban Yaxley. Dolores Umbridge. Anton Dolohov. I’m done with this shit.” 

“Is that a hit list?” asked Remus, sounding a little frightened and impressed at the same time. 

“I dunno. Is it?” She thanked him for helping her to her feet and picked up Catriona, kissing her on the cheek and walking around with her. “Who’s going to tell his parents? Or Rosemary?” 

“You know them?” Myron stole her seat. 

“You’re cute. I’m not doing this alone. Have I hung out with his parents? Yes.” She dragged her answer out. She ran her hand through her hair. “Can you imagine that conversation? ‘You remember me? Yeah, your only son, your boy, has no home. He can't be laid to rest. This is … I don’t want to talk about this.” 

“Dora.” Remus got to his feet. 

“I just lost my father. Donaghan was mine. He’s mine!” Tonks turned on her heel and started down the other way. “He was happy to be happy. Sunshine in a fucking bottle happiness.” 

Myron poured a drink and put a splash in hers. They clinked glasses and shared a glass. 

“Do you know how rare that is?” Tonks flipped her glass upside down with a quick wrist movement. Myron was pleased to see she was a practiced drinker because this would come in handy later. Remus and Myron, and Andromeda followed her outside a little while later; Remus grabbed the pram. Tonks stared at the sky. 

Remus stood sentry beside her, like a faithful dog wagging its tail. “What’re we doing?” 

“Nothing. We’re looking.” Tonks sat on the steps and handed Catriona over to her husband. Remus sat down, too. He exchanged introductions with Catriona like she was a grown woman and finally made Tonks laugh. ICat didn’t follow her finger. Andromeda frowned at her and shrugged her shoulders. “I can't drink. Until I can convince myself not to go up to London and tell Umbridge off, I’m doing this.” 

“Nymphadora,” said Andromeda. 

“Yeah, I’m not listening to you anymore.” Tonks wiped her eyes and looked up at the sky. Andromeda said her name again and set her off. “Don’t call me that. Did I not tell you not to let them go? But no. I know Donaghan and maybe Dad wouldn't have …”

Andromeda nodded. “This is not my fault.” 

“Donaghan isn't Dad. I told you that over and over. I would’ve thought of something if you had just given me a moment. Kingsley would’ve done something.” 

“Donaghan is so honest it hurts,” said Myron, apologizing for the death of Tonks’s father again. He stared at Tonks and put out a fire, thinking maybe he’d learned a thing or two from Gideon Crumb. “Did his dad ever tell you the dead talk?” 

“No.” Tonks calmed down and fixed Catriona’s blanket. 

“He tells me that all time. Donaghan said your dad’s a talker.” Myron winked at her, not revealing when or how he heard this. “Things come back to us when we’re not looking for them. Your dad? Met him a show in Carlisle.” 

Tonks laughed out loud. “My dad?” 

“Yeah. Big-bellied bloke who kept calling Donaghan his son? After a show he got Donaghan so drunk Donaghan walked into a wall. Ted kept drinking cherry-flavored fizzy drinks. No, I swear. You don’t believe me.” Myron turned to Andromeda. “Does your husband still have a little black book with Galway Bay to Leap Castle scrawled inside it?” 

“I don’t know,” she said, sounding a little haughty. “If I’m about to find out an affair or something that should stay buried…” 

“No. I need something to write on.” Myron thanked Remus when he went back in the house to grab quill, ink, and parchment. Myron laughed when Remus offered his back as a writing surface. Myron scrawled a logo onto parchment and added the year as an afterthought. It stood out as graffiti. “Much obliged, sir. Ever seen that?” 

“Yes, I have.” Andromeda took out her wand and conjured a black book. “It stays on the beside table. Please tell me this is funny. He never let me read it.” 

“Hilarious. Exhibit A. Ted Tonks stole a used airplane voucher.” Myron had these scavenger hunts for these “secret seats” to get a free ticket. It was a hollowed-out book. He showed it to them and followed this up with a pub receipt, a feather, a black, empty cigarette lighter and the pièce de résistance, the matchbook. He tossed this to Tonks. “That’s a story.” 

“Oh, when he gave his socks and shoes to the homeless man in Ireland?” Tonks waved the matchbook in Remus’s face. “You will not believe the earful I got for this. At work. ‘Nymphadora, blah, blah, and Nymphadora blah, blah…’” 

“You knew?” asked Remus and Andromeda confused. 

“No, no, you can’t tell people you got a secret seat from the Weird Sisters. It’s an unspoken rule. They all have a theme. This one? Fight or flight?” 

“I planted this one myself.” Myron gave it back to Andromeda and showed her pictures of the band and her husband. Andromeda particularly liked the shots with Ted and Donaghan at Leap Castle. He grinned at Tonks. “Which one do you have?”

“Hart of Scotland,” she said proudly, showing him a ring on her pinky. “My dad got a secret seat? I’m in shock.”

“If I’m not mistaken, and I very well might be, our goddaughter is tied to your dad’s box.” Myron dug through it again and found black enchanted rose petals; these petals never withered with time. Donaghan added these. “Ask Sarah if they discussed a box.” 

“We have a baby together,” said Tonks. 

“You, me, and Sarah.” He liked this Nymphadora Tonks. Myron reached in his back pocket and handed her the January concert tickets, suggesting they go on a first date. “Yeah, I guess so.” 

Myron took the baby back upstairs to be fed by her mother. Sarah said she felt empty; there was not enough. She fed the baby, muttered that she felt like a cow, and handed Cat back to him as she fixed her shirt. He offered to take her home, saying she could stay with them. When she said she wanted to go home and buried her face in his chest, Myron didn’t know what to say. So he answered with silence.

**Author's Note:**

> So, I had a weird idea to write about a Weird Sister. As they are a group of eight gentlemen, this is my first shot at M/M romance. I kind of fell in love with a cello and a certain yellow umbrella. And a certain Donaghan Tremlett. :) Hope you enjoyed it. Let me know what you thought. Thanks for reading.


End file.
